


Evocatio

by VivianCavanaugh



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Future, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 07:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11550408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivianCavanaugh/pseuds/VivianCavanaugh
Summary: Blond hair will be the first thing he will see when he opens his eyes. Honey coloured locks, soft looking, yet scruffy when he reaches to touch. He will hear a breathy sound, not unlike a laugh.





	Evocatio

Blond hair will be the first thing he will see when he opens his eyes. Honey coloured locks, soft looking, yet scruffy when he reaches to touch. He will hear a breathy sound, not unlike a laugh.  
As his heavy eyes finally focus, he sees Ginny, redhead Ginny, whose laugh is always loud and whose turn of lips promises mischief. She leans in, as to envelop him with her long hair and he feels content to close his eyes once more. It seems strange how he cannot fall asleep without a tender touch on the cheek.

  
The next day, as he plays Quidditch with Ron, he dreams. He will catch the other broom, and in the next moment he will fall, twisting, spinning dizzyingly through the air. A hand closes around his, pulling him upwards. It is only Ron, but who might it be. His evident confusion is enough for him to ask

"Alright there, Harry?"

"Must be tired."

"Y'should go to Pomfrey, y'know, get a potion fo' that." His words are rushed. He looks almost worried, as though he caught himself thinking of something dangerous.

He nods lightly and takes off.

  
There is nothing wrong with him, though, and it is frightening to think of his mind muddled and scarred by Voldemort after all. He may be having visions, which may mean something, but Divination never was his strongest subject. It would not hurt to try, though, as his curiosity is expanding like a spider web.  
'Curiosity killed the cat' will be whispered so close to his ear, yet never touching. He will turn to see white teeth showing because of a secretive amused smile, and he will feel his own lips mirroring it. 'Satisfaction brought it back.' he says, loud in the ominous silence of the corridor he has found himself in.  
It is no wonder that, in Fate's grand scheme, he has always been a black sheep. He remembers walking towards death, how he, step by step, built his life, his dreams, his future, only to shatter it all with a final stumble. He will be cradled by warm arms, his head tucked in the crook of a neck, and he will sigh deeply, letting the burning anger, the heavy sadness flow, clutching the comforting body in front of him.

  
He wakes up to Neville's toad sitting on his pillow. It makes feeble sounds and he feels peaceful, all of a sudden. The other day, he went to see professor Trelawney about the visions. She answered before he could knock, peering at him through round thick lenses.

"My boy, I knew you would be here, quick, quick, come inside–" He was hastily pulled in.

"I've been having–"

"Visions of the future, yes, yes, the stars have foretold you would have them. They should go away soon enough. I knew you had a special kind of magic, like that time–"

"You're saying I see the future, professor?"

"Well, of course, it may or may not happen, you see, the future is best clear through crystal globes, like when I was–"

"Thank you, professor, so it's not the future and it'll go away. Lovely chat, afraid I have to go, I have... homework to do!"

"But, boy–"

He was already bolting towards the Common Room, relieved. The dreams did not hold a particular meaning, they were only the product of his magic trying to do everything at once.

  
He spots Hermione at breakfast, a book in front of her, brow furrowed, and when she sees him, she gives him a small smile. He will see large black circles around soft sky eyes. He will look closely at the pale hair, pointy nose, thin but oddly plump lips, and he will see Draco Malfoy at his lowest, after countless insomniac nights, skinnier than ever, awaiting the sentence to turn his future.  
He sees Ginny looking at him with a funny expression, his hand almost touching her face, as to wipe a falling tear. He recoils.

"I, I don't think this'll work. Us."

"Harry, I knew that already."

"I'm sorry, I–"

"Stop, just –" She has a sad expression on her face. " We had beautiful times together." Then, smiling softly. "Can't regret that, can you?"

He gives her a small smile. There is something peculiar about lost love, that it always seems like it could be recovered in a night and kept forever, yet it struggles and bites when one tries to do just that.

He finds himself in the Astronomy tower, taking a blind look around. He has not had the time for mourning then. Now does never seem right. He goes to sleep early. He has been sleeping a lot lately, maybe as a kind of redemption for the war, or maybe only to keep dreaming. He knows who he dreams about, now, but indulges anyway, because he has never felt more loved, even when he feels the sour taste of blood on his lips after a particularly strong punch. They will wrestle, shoving each other, scratching deep, and when they wake up in the infirmary, he will hear 'I'm sorry' said with a coarse voice, like in the midst of bruises and hurt it will mean more than feeble words. They will. He keeps this fantasy because it isn't anything yet.

  
He wakes up to his friends' faces above him. He sees hesitation in the breath Ron takes before speaking, as to gather his thoughts.

"Harry, y'alright?"

"As alright as I can be."

"You don't seem alright, though. You've been like that since the year started. The last time you played Quidditch, whenever that was, you fell off your broom. You barely speak, you're not paying attention in class anymore–"

"It's not 'bout tha', Hermione."

"Of course it is. The point is, he's not doing anything." She turns away from Ron.

"Harry, it's been too long."

"I know, I've –been having these dreams, about– forget it, I really can't tell you now."

"All we ask is y'tell us when."

This conversation keeps twisting, reshaping itself in his mind for days. In the end, it seems like it never happened. He keeps wandering, lost in unknown parts of the castle, sleeps more, doesn't bother answering in class, he eats breakfast knowing he will wake up to the smell of bacon after Draco will have left during an argument. He will step in the kitchen, greeted by a hesitant smile and glittering eyes, he will brush his lips to the pale cheek, and all will be forgiven.

"Merlin, Potter, I thought you've left this world and I would have to announce your retirement."

The same voice will give a blood-curdling scream as Harry will fall towards certain death, hit by an unknown blue spell. His last thought will be that Draco's eyes could look like that, were they not full of such soft affection.  
He blinks, a hand waving close to his face. He sees Malfoy sitting right in front of him. His face sports a look of well-hidden confusion. He will not hide it so well when Harry tells him about Muggle instruments, cars, Sirius's old motorcycle, the toaster at the Dursley's and those yellow rubber ducks no one knows how to use correctly.  
Harry makes a noise, with feeling.

"I am not saying that again." His nose is scrunched up, and he looks as though his disdain should mean anything. It will.

"I, and pay attention, I asked you, Harry Potter, if you were alright."

He sighs in mock despair.

"I see the rumours are true, you've gone off the rook. My, my, Potter has gone insane! The Saviour! Alert the Prophet! He needs to be–"

"–taken to Saint Mungo's, he's in danger of saving us all! Again!" Harry laughs at the surprise on his face, and he knows he will laugh just the same as Draco will wear the warm hideous Christmas sweater, a look of sweet consternation marring his features.

"What do you know, Potter, we haven't insulted each other just yet."

"Right back at you, Malfoy."

  
This conversation spins around in his dreams, and he realises with a worrying amount of surprise that he may be predicting the actual unadulterated future. He will study the hand next to him, from the protruding bones of the wrist, slim and strangely graceful, up to the well-kept fingernails. He will take it, fitting both of their palms together to feel patches of roughness right next to soft skin. He will be shoved aside and snarled at. When he tries, it happens without fail. He cherishes the texture of the hand like each knut he will save to restore Grimmauld Place. He bumps into Malfoy during one of his wanderings. He looks somehow scared, like he thought danger was easy and is starting to be proven wrong. He takes a short breath and says

"Alright, Potter?"

"Sure, you? "

"Aside from the obvious, fine. Listen –" He cuts himself off and seems to gather his thoughts, tries again."About the other week, I–" He looks contrite, his little finger twitches, making him clench his hand into a fist. "Try again!" his features build up a small horrified face, he swallows. "What you did, try again!"

They will have study white nights alone, then together when they move in, will motivate each other and Harry will remember First Year, their first Quidditch game and they will play Seeker versus Seeker in the dead of night, whispering wandless 'Lumos'.

"You know, Potter, who'd have thought we'd end up here?" is said after Harry wakes up in his lap and smiles brightly because he knew.

They will sneak into the Griffindor dorms, where Hermione will notice them with eyebrows raised and a slight upturn of her lips. He will shrug almost sheepishly, she will nod towards Draco in silent agreement. He will bow just as silently, making Harry swallow his snort with only a peculiar little smile. Moments before it happens, he ruffles blond hair, his eyes most likely twinkling, a way of reassurance.

"Don't look at me like that, Potter."

"Like what? "

"Like you get it. I'd hate you mastered Legilimency all of the sudden."

 

He refuses to live their kisses in any other time but the present. These moments belong to them alone, are not to be known beforehand, therefore, they never come up in his visions. It may be wistful thinking, yet he believes some acts are meant to be spontaneous, a Stunner in the dark, so they say. Sometimes, when the air is particularly hazy, he cannot tell what is real. He wakes up the next day having seen Draco's death, and with absolutely no hesitation, asks to be Obliviated. He is trembling hard enough for his wish to be fulfilled. These days he spends talking about himself, his childhood, his friends, he shares memories or feelings. In return, he gets bits and pieces, building up a giant puzzle.

"You underestimate me, Malfoy. I've solved riddles before."

"You overestimate yourself. You haven't pieced together someone's life before."

He wakes up alone, that is how he knows something is amiss. His bed does not feel the same, his sheets are white instead of their usual red and gold, the room is taller than he remembers. When madam Pomfrey walks in, it all becomes clear. His lip should sting badly, Draco should be sleeping, still in the bed next to him. They fought the other night, because, and he understands clearly now, Harry told him everything, from the very beginning to the pseudo-end, his first vision to the most recent one. He suspects it will turn out alright, in the end. A sharp breath shatters his musings.

"I'm sorry." His voice is coarse, just like he remembers it to be. "But you knew I was about to say that, you, you, massive git! You stood there, you knew everything, all this time, and you stood there, pretending–" His voice breaks a little. "–pretending to care. You– was it pity? Was this all for my pretended redemption? Were you–"

"No. You got it all wrong, I told you, I fell in love. That's why. Because I fell in love with you. At first, I didn't even think they were real, the visions. I knew you were the one I dreamt about, I knew it, but I felt so loved, and somewhere along the way, I fell in love with you in return"

"You didn't, you fell in love with the future me. Like a ghost. Shut up with all your self–righteousness."

"I fell in love with the whole you. The you I'm speaking to now, that's all I love."

"Stop saying it, Potter! I'm not saying it back."

"I didn't ask you to." He suddenly feels doubtful, the professor's words about the uncertainty of the future ringing in his head. "I'm not asking you to. You're not the bad guy here, Draco."

"Damn right I'm not – Harry." His voice carries a tint of some unknown feeling, it is not hurt. If he focuses, he can hear the cogs of Fate turning.

 

The visions stop. Trelawney's version of 'soon' is more or less a year. He decides to try Auror training, Ron joins him blissfully unaware of what is to come.  
Blond hair is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the film "Arrival" based on the book "Story of Your Life" by Ted Chiang, go check them both out
> 
> as always, let me know if you notice mistakes of any kind  
> I'm not even going to pretend they're not ooc
> 
> Thank you for reading, your opinion matters to me!


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